


Farewell

by JantoJones



Series: Stand-alone  (The 1st 100) [81]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:57:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8566594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: This is my way of saying goodbye to Robert Vaughn. It is one of the only two deathfics I will write. The second will hopefully not be for sometime yet.





	

The sky above the gathering was the pale, clear blue of winter, and the crispness of the air was shown by the warm breaths of all those assembled. All, that is, apart from one figure.

Napoleon Solo stood, unseen, beside the grave into which his body was being lowered.

His death hadn’t come as a surprise, but the fact he was attending his own funeral had come as one. The mourners were kept to the bare minimum by his own request. Napoleon wasn’t a vain man, despite what some people thought, but he wasn’t so naïve as to think his death would go unnoticed by the enemy. He had known that most of U.N.C.L.E. would want to attend but having too many personnel out in the open together could be too great a temptation. As such, a memorial service had been organised within the chapel of HQ for all those who wished to say goodbye.

Napoleon’s heart was breaking at the sight of the mourners who had come together on this cold day for him. Not counting the two bodyguards and the priest, there were only two people at the graveside. 

The first, weeping softly into a handkerchief was April Dancer. Napoleon had always marvelled at how kind the years had been to her, she still even had her beautiful auburn hair; albeit artificially achieved these days. U.N.C.L.E. hadn’t been as progressive as they should have been when it came to equality, but April Dancer had proved she was just as good, if not better, than her male colleagues.

Beside her, the once stoic, Illya Kuryakin was allowing his tears to flow quite freely. Napoleon could hardly bear to witness it. It was hard to see April upset, but the sight of his old partner showing his emotions so openly was difficult to accept. Illya had always been one who could hold himself in check, so the fact he was crying so publicly was a testament to just how much his friend’s death had hit him. 

Solo smiled as he remembered the years he and Illya had been partners and friends. They had both assumed they wouldn’t reach field retirement age, let alone make it into their eighties. The Russian had always looked younger than his years and, even now, his hair was only just beginning to show signs of grey. That had been somewhat of a consternation to Napoleon, that he had gone entirely white, while Illya’s hair had merely darkened.

A wisp of smoke passed in front of Napoleon’s face and, giving it an experiment sniff, he was sure he could detect an aroma he hadn’t known for many years. Turning to look behind him, he found himself face to face with his old boss. Alexander Waverly puffed contentedly on his favourite Isle of Dogs No. 22 tobacco. Behind him, Mark Slate grinned a hello.

“It’s good to see you again Mr Solo,” the ‘Old Man’ said, with a warm smile. “And I’m very pleased that it wasn’t as soon as had been expected. You and Mr Kuryakin have been a credit to the name of U.N.C.L.E., but now it is time for you to leave all that behind.”

Napoleon took one last look at Illya and April. He wanted to reach out and hug them both, but knew it was impossible.

“Don’t either of you dare to follow me too soon,” he ordered. “And yes, Kuryakin, I am pulling rank. I was the senior agent after all.”

Of course, neither of them would be able to hear him, but a puzzled expression appeared on Illya’s face, and he cocked his head as though trying to listen for something.

“What is wrong, Darling?” April asked.

“I could have sworn I heard Napoleon,” Illya replied, smiling at the absurdity of it. “Just wishful thinking I suppose.”

“Come on, let’s go and have a drink to his memory. Do you think we should invite her?”

Napoleon looked to where April had indicated and was surprised to see Angelique. She too was just as beautiful as she had been; her blond her now white. He watched with absolute astonishment as Illya walked over to her and invited her to join them. She and Illya had always been the best of enemies. Solo’s jaw dropped even more when Illya put his arms around Angelique in a gesture of comfort.

At the sound of Mr Waverly clearing his throat, Napoleon turned away for the last time and followed him, and Mark, into eternity.


End file.
